This One Mistake Always Reveals a New Hiker
Within five minutes, my breath turns shallow. My calves tighten. I tell myself this is normal and reattempt to match the pace of the others around me. The tall, towering trees enveloping me beg me to turn around. I step on their giant roots in defiance.
One more step up and my knees feel like noodles. I just need to get into the hang of it, I tell myself. A throbbing ache begins in my right knee that I try to drown out, focusing on the unjudgmental chirps of the birds and the sympathetic whisper of wind rushing between the leaves above me.
Another step and my stomach becomes a knot that stretches towards my back. No turning back now, I repeat to myself, huffing and puffing because I can’t contain the lack of air in my body anymore. I take off my jacket and realize I’m sweating pretty bad.
Hikers around me move differently, barely breaking a sweat and pushing on like it’s a walk in the park for them.
But we are on a mountain. Going uphill. With about 2,800 feet of elevation gain.
I step aside to let someone pass. She looks at me amusingly, brushing past me easily and shouting back, “We haven’t even gone a quarter way up yet!”
I murmur some unhappy words under my breath.
One more step and my hand reluctantly reaches for a tree, against my self-righteous protesting, and I have to sit down on a rock to catch my rasping breath before I pass out. Is that my asthma coming back? I drink some water that barely quenches the stinging thirst and stand back up to complete what I thought was going to be my greatest hiking accomplishment back then. It actually ended up being a mistake.
No, it wasn’t my asthma. It was me 10 minutes into my first ascent of the Grouse Grind in Vancouver, BC. Considered “Nature’s Stairmaster,” the Grouse Grind is a hiking trail on Grouse Mountain, famous for its steep and strenuous path. And that’s where I learned my first hiking mistake—never go without knowing the trail you’re about to tackle.
New hikers often approach trails like they approach a treadmill, thinking it’s controlled, maintained and will suit your level or speed. Several times while hiking, I’ve seen other hikers with a confident, determined look starting off, but they either end up turning back mid-way or end the hike with a defeated expression.
Nature is its own living force. It’s powerful and unexpected, and it doesn’t conform to your will. The Grouse Grind doesn’t ease you in, and neither does Mother Nature. It rises sharply through damp forest, roots slick with coastal humidity and a judgmental aura (at least towards me).
By the halfway mark, I had burned through most of my accessible energy. My body was screaming. My breaks were long and unplanned. Every restart felt heavier than the last.
What I thought was a challenge was actually impatience and ignorance. The consequence wasn’t just discomfort. It was a steady erosion of control. My footing got sloppier. I stopped looking up to read terrain signs. I focused only on the next step, the next breath. That’s when mistakes happen.
On steep trails like the Grouse Grind, fatigue begins quickly. When your muscles flood early, you lose the ability to adjust your pace later. You can’t respond calmly to hurdles like big roots. You can’t regulate temperature. You can’t think strategically.
Thankfully, I survived and made it to the top, vowing to never try that again. It took two weeks for my sore muscles to heal, with some heat therapy, stretching and tons of rest. The descent via gondola felt like an evacuation, not a victory. But after that climb, I started doing my homework.
How Experienced Hikers Actually Move
Experienced hikers don’t just know how to hike the trail, they also know how to arrive.
They already know the elevation gain. They know the average completion time. They know whether there’s water access, bailout points or shade. They’ve checked the weather at the summit, not just the city. They understand whether the trail is a steady incline or a relentless staircase with no breaks.
I had done none of that.
I showed up with enthusiasm and a vague idea that it was “hard.” That was the extent of my homework.
The Grind gains nearly 800 metres in under three kilometres. That’s not a scenic stroll. It’s an uphill cardio test disguised as a hike. If I had looked at the elevation beforehand, I would have seen the truth immediately: there is no easing in. There is no flat ground to recover on. It’s steep from the first minute to the last.
In the backcountry, the stakes are higher. Underestimating elevation gain can mean hiking into darkness without a headlamp. Misjudging distance can mean running out of water. Not knowing terrain type can mean scrambling in trail runners when you needed grippier soles. Dehydration can become heat exhaustion, then heat stroke. A missed turn can become an unplanned night, hypothermia setting in as temperatures drop after sunset. A wet rock can lead to a fall, a twisted ankle miles from the trailhead and then a rescue scenario.
How to Avoid My Mistakes
Before experienced hikers arrive to the trailhead, they check:
- Elevation gain and distance (comparing both to understand the pacing you’ll need)
- News reports from the past 72 hours on the trail or surrounding area/region
- Weather at the highest point of the trail, not just at the trailhead
- Sun exposure and shade from trees (to measure hydration needs)
- Water sources within the trail or lack thereof (you may need to carry a water purifying method)
- Timing estimated based on their own pace, not the averages
- Gear needed for weather, safety and comfort (especially if it is a longer trail and can become an overnight hike)
Take 10 to 15 minutes to study your trail and save hours of struggle. On the trail, especially a new one, start slow. Allow your body to adjust to the groove of the ground, the weather, the elevation and the exertion. Your body is doing something amazing! Treat it right, and move thoughtfully with intention. Pause before you’re desperate for water and note your own needs instead of comparing yourself to other hikers. Your pacing may be different than others’ but so is your body. Know the adventure you want, the hike you can reasonably experience enjoyably and your limits.
This Isn’t Just About Doing Homework
That first ascent of the Grouse Grind reshaped how I approach every outdoor adventure now. I still move with confidence, but it’s due to my preparation, not my ego. It’s confidence that I’ve earned.
There’s a subtle arrogance in assuming you can “figure it out as you go” in the Great Outdoors. Sometimes you can. Often you pay for it. Over time, you learn that you just have to accept the unrelenting, unexpected nature of the natural world and be prepared enough to tackle it.
The trails, trees, mountains and earth don’t care about how motivated you are and your hiking accomplishments or goals. But they reward those who arrive prepared.
